


Crime and Punishment

by emmaliza



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Angst, Basically my usual: porn and despair, Breathplay, Dubious Consent, Execution, Humiliation, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Oral Sex, R plus L equals J
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-21
Updated: 2016-11-21
Packaged: 2018-09-01 07:38:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8615353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmaliza/pseuds/emmaliza
Summary: Theon is going to be executed. And so Ned lets him commit a crime.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the valar_morekinks prompt: "Any younger man/Ned: dub/non-con, humiliation. Ned Stark gets fucked and humiliated by a younger man (or men). It can be Jon, after he finds out Ned was lying about his parentage, or Theon, or even Joffrey."
> 
> ...Yeah, this is one of those things I wrote weeks ago and only just summoned the courage to post here. *shrug*

The boy was quiet when Ned first met him. Ned understood, under the circumstances. He felt sorry for him. He's always felt sorry for him.

He isn't quiet anymore.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Theon grunts in his ear, long fingers pulling roughly at his hair. He flinches, slightly, but it doesn't hurt very much, at least not compared to the stabbing sensation down below. It is strange this, the feeling of being ripped open and violated, of having something that shouldn't be there inside. There are moments of pleasure in it, moments where he groans and tries to dig his fingers into the cold stone floor, but they are few and far between. Theon is, after all, hardly trying to make love to him. That is not what this is about. “Fucking – fucking take it, you pathetic–”

For a moment, Ned thinks this is how Theon always is. He does not have a good reputation with the serving girls. “Fucking disgusting,” the boy grunts, and Ned does not answer – he doesn't know why Theon insists on talking. Someone might hear him, but then again, that might be what he wants – it's not like that could make things any worse for him, could it? “You let that precious king of yours do this to you?”

No, never. But Ned doesn't say that, he lets Theon think whatever he will. Of course, if Robert ordered this of him now, it's not like Ned would have a choice. But Robert wouldn't order this of him, he's sure.

(He was sure. But he hasn't seen Robert in years, and Robert has ordered things of him.)

Theon scoffs. “'Course you would. You'd love that fat bastard's cock inside you. Do anything for it, right?” Ned almost wants to roll his eyes. _Would that make you feel better, Theon?_ “I suppose I'll do in a pinch. Go on, my lord. I want to make you scream. I want all of Winterfell to hear you begging for your hostage's cock.”

Ned does not say anything. Theon just curses and quickens his pace, shoving in and out painfully. If he wants to make Ned beg, he is going the wrong way about it. His hands move from Ned's hair to his shoulders, pinning him down – not that Ned couldn't escape if he tried – and squeezing tight enough to leave bruises. If nothing else, he wants to let Cat know – how is Ned going to explain this to Cat?

(Cat seems to be the one person who understands. He wishes she didn't. If she thinks it's the right thing to do, then Ned can't fool himself that it isn't.)

He hisses in pain as Theon buries himself deep, hips bucking involuntarily. “Oh gods – Drowned God – that's right,” Theon moans, correcting himself – he only wants to blasphemy _his_ god. “So fucking tight around me, guess there's an advantage to being such a stuck up prick?”

Ned just groans and lets his back arch, head knocking against the ground. “Fucking look at me!” Theon grabs his hair again and Ned has no choice but to obey, staring up into eyes like the sea. It's been many years, he barely remembers what the sea looks like – does Theon? “That's right. I want you knowing who did this to you,” Theon says. _How could I possibly forget?_ “I want you to feel it for weeks, even after I'm–”

Theon cuts himself off and they both flinch. The boy can't bring himself to say it yet. Ned's not sure _he_ can say it – he's said so little these past weeks. It's not like anyone wants to talk to him – Robb seems to have given up on begging his father for Theon's life. He seems to have given up on his father entirely. Ned can't say he blames him.

The boy's legs are starting to tremble as they push against Ned's own. He knows Theon is well-experienced, but he's still young, he only has so much stamina. “Hurts, doesn't it?” he sneers, as if Ned won't hear the longing in his voice, as if he didn't always hear it. “This is what we do, you know, us Ironborn. We take what is ours. Should have seen this coming, Lord Stark.”

He shudders as Theon thrusts hard and fast, rubbing up against some place in him that makes it almost feel good. Ned should have seen it coming. It's a relief Theon decided he wanted to do this to him, and not any of his children – but his children all love Theon, hence why they can barely stand to look at their father anymore, and Ned doesn't think he'd want to hurt them. But he can't be sure.

(Or at least, it might make him feel better if he couldn't be sure.)

“Fuck,” Theon hisses, and then pulls out – it's so sudden it hurts, Ned's afraid Theon might tear his insides out when he does it. He looks up, confused, and the boy spits at him.

“I want to fuck your face,” Theon explains, and Ned blinks in surprise. Why? he almost asks. That's hardly more humiliating than what's already been done to him. “I want you to look at me the way you, when you're about to – I want your mouth to give that stern frown, and I want to remember what it looked like stuffed with cock.”

He winces. Well he can hardly deny Theon that. The boy crawls up the length of his body, and the boy's not heavy, but there's something about having him looming above him like this – Ned feels like he's being buried, and he coughs. “Theon–”

The boy's hand flies around his throat.

“Fucking do it, or I'll choke the life out of you,” he snarls. Ned gargles as those fingers press tighter, and Theon smirks. “Maybe I should do that anyway. Wouldn't save me, but it'd be a hell of a thing to manage, wouldn't it? The hostage who fucked and killed his captor. They'd probably write a song about it. Father would be proud.”

He flinches again. Theon's father condemned him to death, and yet the boy's still trying to impress him. But Ned's not really scared, he doesn't think Theon would actually do it – for he's right, it wouldn't save him; no, it would make him the most hated man in the North. Someone would have to execute him – Robb would have to execute him, it would be his duty, and they both know it would destroy him. Theon loves Robb, Robb might be the only person Theon truly loves, and he couldn't do that to him.

(And maybe Theon's afraid that he'd lose Robb's love forever, that Robb could only ever hate the man who murdered his father, whatever the circumstances, and would take his head eagerly. Maybe Ned can relate.)

Ned opens his mouth wide. Theon snickers and shoves his way in without another word, hands still grasping at Ned's hair, pulling it like reigns. He fucks in and out wildly, not caring if he grazes himself against Ned's teeth, pushing all the way to the back of his throat – Ned can taste himself on the end of Theon's prick, and starts gagging immediately, but Theon doesn't seem to mind. He tries his best to swallow the fluid starting to drip down his throat, even if it makes him feel sick. All of this makes him feel sick.

“Cocksucking slut,” Theon groans, “what would the North think of this, of you, I wonder?”

_They'd be disgusted._ But they seem perfectly content with him killing an innocent boy because the king ordered it, so maybe their opinions don't count for much.

He could say no. He could tell Robert to go to hell, that he is not letting another innocent child die to prop up his regime – he is not letting another boy's corpse haunt his nightmares (they say the Mountain smashed Elia Martell's baby's head against a wall). But what then? Ned remembers what happened when Jon Arryn refused such an order – a rebellion, a war. Would Ned do that, rise up against the King, against _Robert_ , the man he loves like a brother, on behalf of a boy whose father is already in open rebellion? Even if he allied with Greyjoy, he highly doubts they would win – and he doubts Balon would agree, too consumed with bitterness over the last war.

And Jon. If Robert knew how willing he was to protect children from his wrath, he'd figure it out, Ned's sure of it. He'd forget all about Theon and devote himself to destroying the last Targaryen he could get his hands on – and anyone he thought had sheltered him, Ned's whole family. Even if he didn't, Jon would almost certainly get himself killed in a war – he's too eager for honour, for glory, to prove himself to a family he's never truly felt like he belongs in. Would Jon kill Theon if he was ordered to? Ned can't be sure – they've never gotten along, but it seems like the sort of thing Jon just couldn't bring himself to do.

Lyanna's words still ring in his ear. _Promise me, Ned._

And Theon is not an innocent child anymore.

“Oh fuck,” Theon groans, pulling Ned's head up to he can thrust harder, faster, deeper – Ned can't really breathe, and maybe Theon is trying to choke the life out of him. “Swallow my come,” the boy orders. “I want you to fucking taste it.”

Ned wonders, with Theon stuffed so far down his throat, how he could avoid that. But it doesn't matter. Theon moans and holds his head tight, grip so brutal you'd think he was trying to squeeze it until it burst. He's kept still as Theon starts to spend in his mouth, and Ned chokes on it, swallows what he can, but he gags a lot of it up and it spills down his chin in messy drops of seed and spit and bile. Theon groans and thrusts a few more times, finishing himself off, they he sighs and slowly pulls away.

Once he's left alone Ned just lays there on the floor, gasping for breath. He should try and stand, try to regain his composure, but it doesn't seem to matter right now.

He looks across the room and sees Theon back on his bed, rolling on his side and pushing up the mattress slightly. Ned's puzzled, until he sees Theon slide a wineskin out from underneath him. Despite everything, he can't help but smile. He thought he'd found all Theon's hiding spots for wine. Apparently not.

(He always tried to stop himself getting attached to Theon. He did not entirely succeed.)

Theon takes a deep gulp and then looks across the room. Ned's smile fades, and Theon raises an eyebrow. “Are you going to lie there all day?”

Ned groans and pushes himself up – every muscle in his body screams in protest. He is too old for this. The ache in his arse is agonising, and he might have to ask Luwin to check if he's torn – although he has no idea how he would explain the circumstances. He meets Theon's eye as the boy drinks again – and then Theon looks away, chewing his lip. He looks almost guilty, and Ned's confused – until he realises that, he might have lay there and let Theon do what he wanted with him, but he never exactly gave permission. As far as Theon knows, he just raped Ned. Of course he would feel guilty.

Maybe that's for the best. Maybe Theon will feel more in control of his life if he goes to his death thinking he's done something to deserve it. Ned doesn't know anymore.

He forces himself to stand, even as his legs threaten to give way under him. Maybe he should say something, but he doesn't think there's anything to say. Just as he turns to leave, Theon mutters at him: “I'm not going to tell anyone.”

Ned turns back to face him, frowning. “Why not?” Perhaps Theon is trying to threaten him. _I won't tell anyone, as long as you let me go._ But surely he knows that wouldn't work – Ned wouldn't besmirch his honour like that just to save his reputation. Besides, who would believe a hostage about to be put to death, as desperate as he is spiteful?

Theon shrugs, almost casually. “I don't want everyone to know,” he says. “Robb and your wife and the little ones – I don't want them to know how angry I was. How much I wanted to get my own back.” He bites his lip and looks away. “I want them to think I faced it like a man. With dignity. With honour.”

Ned's heart aches for the boy. He really is just a child, still, and Ned wishes he could hold him – that he could tell him it's alright, he's allowed to be angry, he's allowed to be scared. He wishes he could play the father and tell Theon how sorry he is, how much they will miss him, how much they love him. But he cannot. He is the man who will take Theon's life tomorrow, and the boy deserves better than Ned trying to make him feel sorry for him – he needs someone to hate over this.

So he just walks out, Lord Stark disappearing into the silence of his castle.

 

 


End file.
